Breathe
by katiek723
Summary: He wants me to ask him to dance. I know it, can practically feel it radiating from him. And I want to ask him. God, I want to ask him so badly. Want to take his hand in mine, hold him and stare into his eyes. I want to be the strong, courageous man


**AN: just a drabble really. Thought I'd try something a bit different, see if it worked. **

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><p>He wants me to ask him to dance. I know it, can practically feel it radiating from him. And I want to ask him, God I want to ask him so badly. Want to take his hand in mine, hold him and stare into his eyes. I want to be the strong, courageous man he thinks I am. But I can't, because I'm not that man. God, I'm not even a man, just a pathetic boy, scared of ghosts. But that's just the thing isn't it? They're not ghosts, not really. Because looking around me now at all these faces, it's just the same; the sly glances, the smirks, and I know, I just know that they're waiting. Waiting for some slip up, some excuse to punish me. And I can't go through that again. So I don't ask him to dance. The understanding I see on his face kills me a little inside.<p>

When they call his name it doesn't quite register at first. But then the sniggers start and someone claps and I snap my head to look at him. He's crumbling, right before my eyes, sinking in on himself. And then he's running and I'm running after him, shouting his name, because this is Kurt, my Kurt, my beautiful Kurt, and I won't let them tear him down like they did to me.

But now that we're standing in the corridor I'm confused, because Kurt isn't curled up on the ground like I'd expected. Yes, he's crying, but it's angry and righteous and fierce. And I know with such certainty that I don't deserve him.

As Karofsky turns and walks from the dance floor my eyes are glued to Kurt. He looks so small and alone standing in that big empty space, but his head is held high, and once, just once I want to be worthy of him. I want to be brave and strong and a man, for God's sake, and before I even know what I'm doing I've pushed through the crowd and am standing right there with him.

My voice is soft and shaking when I call out to him, but the look on his face is just so…I don't even have the words. His smile and his warmth and just everything that makes him Kurt is filling me up inside with warmth. Our hands are touching now and I'm holding him, and I'm actually doing this. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, it feels so good and so right and so free.

And then I catch the eye of some guy standing across the hall, and he's not smiling or laughing. He's angry and cold and hard and I can feel my skin begin to prickle under the intensity of it. And suddenly they're everywhere I look, these faces filled with hatred and disgust, and I can feel the panic start again. I try to focus on Kurt, his laughter in my ear, his hand pressed firmly to my back, but those faces, they're still there, and they're closing in on us.

We're trapped now and I know what's coming. I've lived this before, I know what to expect and that tingling in my skin is getting stronger and more insistent. I'm trying to shut it out, but it's incessant and it's everywhere and it's getting worse and worse and I can feel my body blistering and bubbling away under the surface and at any second it's just going to burst out and tear me to shreds.

I want to run, I need to run, but Kurt's still smiling and I can't take this from him. So I hold my breath to stop from hyperventilating, but it's just making things worse and my vision is blurring at the edges so all I can see are those damn faces and they're not staring anymore. They're twisted and contorted, jeering at us, and God, they're so close now and they're going to hurt me, they're going to hurt me again and I don't want them to. I manage to choke out some half line about needing the toilet, and them I'm running. I wish I could stand tall and be brave like Kurt, but I just don't have it in me. I run, I always run, because I'm weak and I'm a pathetic and I'm a coward.

I stumble through the doors and finally take a breath, but it burns my throat and my chest and, oh God, when did my tie get so tight? I pull at it, but it's made of lead and my fingers are clumsy and uncoordinated and this is it. I'm going to die like this, crouched in a corridor at my boyfriend's prom. I thought I was going to die at the Sadie Hawkins dance, and at least I can appreciate the irony of that. That they've killed me after all, just a few years later than they intended.

And then a shadow falls over me and I know what I'm going to see when I look up. I hope so desperately that I'm wrong, because I don't want him to see me like this, crumpled and crying on the floor. God, he must think I'm so pathetic, so ridiculous, so weak. So I don't look up, just stay there crouched on the floor like an animal, hoping he'll take pity on me and leave without saying a word, without humiliating me any further. And I'll live the rest of my life knowing that once, for a few short months, I managed to trick an angel into thinking I was good enough for him.

He doesn't leave, but he doesn't say anything either. Just crouches down and reaches out towards me. I didn't even realise that my hands were still clutched at my throat, but they must be, because he's taking them, moving them out of the way and undoing my tie. My head falls back against the wall as air fills my lungs and then his arms are around me and I let my head fall onto his shoulder.

I feel like I'm re-entering reality. Like the fog that was engulfing me, suffocating me, is clearing, and I feel a little bit like I'm Blaine again. Not that nameless, abused boy, but Blaine. And I know I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. I'm too relieved to feel anything else. Because Kurt is still here, still holding me, humming lightly under his breath, and it's enough. It's enough.


End file.
